About this time of year, I have to call my mother. ‘Lisa’s in labor!’? Four years ago, we had to call the veterinarian for an emergency Caesarian birth. Lisa, named for the vet, was such a sickly baby goat we couldn’t take her horns off, as we usually do. My mother, visiting from Yorkshire, raised the pathetic Lisa lovingly, to become our most bossy, dominant goat, now with the status of a favorite child. There are framed pictures of Lisa in my mother’s house…
Anyhow, Lisa’s had her babies this year. The mothers usually give birth close to the herd, but Lisa demands that we get into the pen too. She’ll wait uncomfortably until we’ve climbed over into the pen with the rest of the herd.
There are late nights at birthing season, but luckily we have Andrew and Griff on the farm. They are actually fabulous designer/architect people, here from London to transform our house, but instead of drawing up plans they are rolling up their cashmere sleeves for the birth of baby goat after baby goat, or ransacking the edible garden for our chicken eggs, or cooking us dinner while we wash off the afterbirth. It should all lead to an amazing understanding of the perfect farmhouse. Including more framed photographs of Lisa.
